


You're Almost Human, After All

by WhatEvenAmI



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Desperation, HYDRA Trash Party, Hydra (Marvel), Licking, M/M, Manipulation, Mind Control, Restraints, Torture, Wetting, the ridiculous super-soldier carseat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 15:47:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4841183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatEvenAmI/pseuds/WhatEvenAmI
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>One of HYDRA's most successful experiments, Pierce had told him.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Just who is the man screaming in that chair?</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Almost Human, After All

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LourdesDeath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LourdesDeath/gifts).



> Got the idea from [this comment thread](http://archiveofourown.org/comments/38808356). I got carried away.
> 
> (Okay, so this is the work I panic-deleted. Sorry for being an anxious overdramatic wreck. The Week of Hell has passed, and I promise not to delete it again.)

When the Soldier lashes out they all fall into place, guns trained on him in an instant. He freezes where he sits, hardly daring to breathe. All at once he slumps, looking like he's just given up. He's messed up. Bad. 

Like every other field agent, Brock's been trained for this, but he's never actually had to deal with it before. He's  _always_ been able to bring the Soldier back under control. _  
_

God _damn_ Rogers and whatever he's fucked up inside the asset's head. This is the first time he hasn't fallen obediently to a hand laid on his knee, a calming squeeze of the thigh. Brock had him trained to respond to every touch.

He never had to be punished like he will be if Pierce sees him like this. And, shit, the paperwork, the hours of reports. What's this screw-up going to cost them later down the line?

Brock's breath catches. The Soldier's locked eyes with him.

He's still obedient to the look on his commander's face, but it's fragile, coming from sharp wariness and not the wordless trust Brock's grown used to. He looks like that might break at any moment.

Brock tries to ignore the panic in the pit of his stomach at the sight. He'd always thought he was reliably objective, but he's never lost the Soldier like this. Fuck, somewhere along the line he actually started caring. That's a mistake; Brock learned that early on. He and the asset might bond well, may work flawlessly together, but he's not Brock's, he's HYDRA's, and they'll do whatever's necessary to keep him maintained. Hell, he's not even fully human, not anymore, if he ever was. He doesn't need Brock's concern, he needs someone to  _fix_ him. Worrying's useless, but the Commander's worried anyway.

 _Damn_  Brock. And damn Steve Rogers.

*

_It's not like he didn't know this could happen._

_Brock has been been trained for those moments when the Soldier goes on the fritz. It's happening now; his eyes dart rapidly around the van from where he's huddled, mumbling under his breath. He knows what to do better than Brock does, throwing himself into the restraining seat. Agent Merle latches him in, and for a while that's that._

_But he's getting worse, twitching and throwing himself against the body clamp that holds him in place. Brock watches him nervously, afraid he might break his own ribs. They're not supposed to touch him when he's like this, he reminds himself. It's just that he can't help but notice the Soldier's got a raging boner going on._

_It's not like Brock's never been in that boat. Post-fight adrenaline, verge of death. Fighting and fucking aren't all that far from one another. Your body can't always tell the difference._

_And the three hundred pounds of pure muscle throwing himself around in crazed, confused rage is really setting Brock on edge. If he can get the Soldier calm..._

_Fuck it. He's hard, too, and not just from fighting. He can't say he hadn't been eyeing the Soldier as he lay into enemy after enemy, plunging head-on into a wave of gunfire. The asset's whining now, muttering in Russian, seeming less like a weapon and more like a frightened animal. Brock inches toward him, experimentally, getting into his frame of vision. Definitely a bad idea to sneak up._

_When the asset doesn't lunge for his throat, Brock experimentally touches his arm. The flesh one—getting too close to the gleaming metal one seems too risky right now—but still, he thinks in awe, running his hands over the thick, taut muscles, this arm alone is probably stronger than both of his. Jesus._

_The Soldier turns to him with a pleading look in his eyes, face twisted in terror beyond the human experience. God knows how they keep the Soldier together—poor bastard. Brock might be just as freaked out if his own brains were fizzling like that._

_He strokes his fingertips up the Soldier's arm. "We got you. We got you, buddy," he reassures him, "We're gonna get you all fixed up. Hang in there."_

_The Soldier has no words, but his pained look says everything. He's too freaked out to be patient, and he's got six more hours of this to look forward to. Do they just leave him locked in here every time he has a breakdown? They talked about him with such reverence and respect. This is no way to treat their most prized asset._

_"This might help you feel better," Brock murmurs, dropping a hand to his knee, squeezing, "Gonna make you feel better, big guy. Hang in there, we'll get you back to maintenance." He's kneading his way up the big, meaty thigh—Christ, the muscles in that thigh, rippling with every new spasm. He's calming, intrigued by where Brock's going with his hand, staring perplexedly at his own crotch. Has no one taught him how to do this? Jesus, no wonder he gets so stressed out._

_It's awkward at first. The restraining band is bulky and it means Brock won't be able to get the Soldier's pants off. Still, the cuffs hold his legs apart and Brock manages to work a discreet hand in there. And after that, well, it's really a matter of finding the rhythm, and the Soldier helps once he catches on, grinding as best he can, pushing and twisting against the restraints to give Brock a better reach. He's not subtle, either, groaning and grunting in rhythm. If Brock's team can tell what he's doing, well, they don't say a word. Hell, he's helping them out if this means the Soldier's not too freaked out to cooperate when they get back._

_Eventually the Soldier freezes up, eyes wide, gasping and shaking, and Brock can tell he's done his job. He rubs harder, slower, drawing out each moan. Caught in the moment, he presses his mouth to the Soldier's thick neck, and the big heavy head rests on top of his own, hair hanging down in Brock's face._

_The Soldier is calm for the rest of the ride, and when the team is commended for their competence with the malfunctioning weapon, not one of them says a word._

*

No one wants to call Pierce.

This op was crucial; they needed to correct a major screw-up, and of all operations to go tits-up, of course it had to be  _this_ one. The Soldier managed to eliminate Sitwell, but not before he spilled a whole bunch of classified shit to Romanoff and Rogers.

Who then escaped. God-fucking-dammit.

And now the Soldier's as bad as Brock has ever seen him, and he won't let any of them come near to help. 

He'd hoped that when Pierce did find out about this bitch of a day, it would be from an incident report detailing how they'd handled the situation. The Secretary will not be happy about this.

Sure, he'll act like it's fine. Brock knows the part Pierce plays for HYDRA. He'll handle this calmly and with genuine compassion, like he really cares about the team and everyone on it. 

But make no mistake, it will be an act. If they drag the Secretary out here to fix all their screw-ups today, someone's going to end up paying for it.

And it will either be Brock's team or the asset.

Who is now, Brock notices, completely motionless in his chair, staring wide-eyed at nothing.

*

_The second time it happens it's not so bad. This time Brock figures out what's triggering it; he's grown better at reading the Soldier, and he realized the target's accent was throwing him off, for some reason. When the target was gagged he was able to focus on the mission once again. But he's still off._

_He's not allowed to eat food. It could fuck up his stomach, they all know that. He's given his allotment of fuel based on how much he burns off, either in enhanced protein shakes or in the goop the techs pump in through tubes._

_And that would be fine, except Gillette brought fucking Nutella in a jar. He's eating Nutella out of a jar, with a spoon, like he's a teenage girl on her period or something._

_And in the confined space of the van, it smells really fucking strong. And chocolatey and sugary and good. The Soldier, with his enhanced senses, is probably getting it even stronger. He wants some, Brock can tell. He's trying not to stare, but his eyes keep darting to the jar._

_He's been agitated enough to have them worried, huddled in the back of the van, and when the jar gets to Brock, the Soldier grunts and grabs for it._

_"Soldier!" Merle says sharply, and Winter pulls back as though slapped, but he doesn't look contrite or ashamed for his behavior. His face turns stormy._

_"Restraint," Merle orders instantly, "Now."  The Soldier huffs in frustration, but he goes, crawling into his seat and slumping there like a rebellious kid._

_That's really what he looks like, a giant child sulking in his car seat, glaring at all of them, and it should be scary how much they're pissing him off. Brock knows what he's capable of, but he can't help smirking in spite of himself. The Soldier's_ pouting _; it's fucking adorable._

_The look on his face only earns him a death glare, which is somehow even funnier. But he's started to pull against the restraints and Brock better deal with this before he gets himself all worked up._

_He scoots over with the remains of the Nutella and the Soldier stares at him hopefully._

_"A little, big guy. Your stomach, remember?" But surely his system can handle a little._

_The Soldier's arms are clamped down, and he's leaning forward in the restraint trying to get his face to the jar. "No," Brock says sternly. "A little."_

_He gets a stroke of inspiration, remembering how he calmed the Soldier last time. "I say how much. Watch."_

_And he uses the spoon to spread chocolate on his upper arm, leaning in. The Soldier's confused at first, but then he gets it, licking. Brock kisses the top of his head, guiding him lower with the spoon, smearing where he wants the Soldier's tongue to go. He licks eagerly, sighing his enjoyment. Brock's dick strains against his pants, and he suddenly thinks that, hey, the seat still leaves his mouth free._

_But, no. Not here, not with the others watching. They didn't say a word about him jacking the Soldier off to calm him, but this would be crossing the line. He satisfies himself by waving the spoon in front of the asset's face, seeing how far he'll lean out trying to reach it._

_Still, he thinks, he reads the Soldier like no one else does. Already he responds to Brock, intuitively and instantaneously. He realizes he's worked his way into the programming, and he's proud he's been able to leave that kind of impact of HYDRA's most valuable asset._

_But, though everything he does is ultimately for HYDRA, there's no reason he shouldn't reap a few benefits for himself. It's not like the Soldier's going to care, from mission to mission—and hell, it's even helped him._

_He's beginning to trust Brock. Now if he can work in some time with him alone..._

*

None of the techs can touch the Soldier. He's erratic; some of his commands seem to get through to him, but then he starts to hyperventilate when they try to approach. The techs are all looking at the agents like  _you're the ones who've got weapons_ , but who wants to be the bastard that shot down the Winter Soldier? They'd probably be the next one in front of the gun, if they were lucky enough to go out that quick.

If it came to it, would Brock actually shoot the Soldier? It's what he'd want for himself, isn't it, if he was the one who'd been compromised? Brains out, no pain, never having to be the guy that put HYDRA in jeopardy. But he's got Rollins; they promised each other a few years back they'd each make sure the other went out easy.

That's probably in the asset's programming. But his programming's too fucked up to respond.

Everyone's eyeing each other, motionless. Now that they've backed off, the Soldier is equally still, looking almost relaxed. His eyes are vacant; has he checked out on them? Brock's seen it before; trauma symptom, sometimes, or shock. People go all space-cadet, get stuck in their own heads.

Mercer's cross-trained as an agent and a tech, and she's the one who creeps forward in slow, deliberate motions, her face carefully blank, gun in hand. Cautiously, she holds up a pinpoint light, waving it in front of the Soldier's eyes. They don't track it; he stares right past her.

"Soldier," she says in a low, even voice. He still doesn't move.

None of Brock's usual signals have been working, but still, he tries. "Soldier." The asset shows no sign of hearing.

Eyes turn to him, agents looking to him for answers. His hesitance can't show. He's a commander, and he needs to act like he knows what to do. Shit, it's going to be bad if they do something that fucks up the asset even more. Pierce has been doing this longer than they have. Maybe he knows some trick they haven't tried.

Reluctantly, he says, "Stay where you are. I'm gonna get the Secretary."

*

_That's almost what fucks it up._

_At first it goes well, Brock offering to take the Soldier back to the techs himself, handle the post-mission reports. His team can clock out early. He's not sure whether they take it for dedication or brown-nosing, but it makes things go a lot easier. Winter learns the finer points of his own body—about goddamn time—and then the finer points of Brock's. Sometimes, when he's been really good, Brock will let him take a little something for himself._

_It's the working world, baby. Everyone gets fucked now and again, only maybe not so literally. But really, this isn't the first time Brock's sucked a dick for HYDRA. This_ is _the first time he's enjoyed it. The Soldier's hands are hesitant, clumsily mimicking things Brock has done, gentle as he figures out what feels best when you put it where. Watching the his face light up in wonder like a kid on Christmas—that's a gift enough right there._

_The Soldier's come to understand that the big stuff can only be done in private, but the discreet stuff can be utilized anytime; as a reward, to calm him down, once as a distraction him from a shoulder wound._

_The result is that now even the slightest touch gets a response. Stop, go, stay, kill; Brock has the power in his fingertips._

_And the Soldier benefits greatly, because the touch is something he knows. He's come to rely on it. Since Brock's been working with him, he hasn't had to be punished once. He's almost never restrained anymore._

_But inevitably it does happen. No one's really sure what's fucked up this time, probably just too long without recalibration, but the Soldier gets all shaky and wild-eyed like he does. Only this time, he doesn't report his malfunction like he's supposed to. And when Mercer orders him to his restraints, he freezes where he sits. Not in defiance, Brock realizes, seeing how the Soldier's gaze darts from him to the carseat. He's nervous. Nervous to get in his seat because—_

_Shit._

_Last week he was assigned his first solo mission with the Soldier, and Brock decided that downtime meant practice. And, okay, a bit more than practice. He had a full three days alone with the Soldier, and most of that was stakeout time._

_So Brock had ordered the Soldier into the restraints, feeling a little guilty at the confused look on his face. But he obeyed without question, and Brock had all kinds of fun with the locked-up Soldier. He was just about to let him up when he noticed the Soldier visibly fidgeting in the restraining band. It didn't take him long to get it. It had been a while since the asset had been given the chance to relieve himself, and then Brock went and locked him up._

_And now he was curious. Just how long could the Soldier hold out?_

_So he'd let him sit, squirming and trying the best he could to squeeze his legs together despite the clamps holding his ankles apart. And then he was whining and pleading with his eyes, and Brock should probably have been a little ashamed of how hard his dick was at the sight._

_He was also wondering why the Soldier didn't just ask to be let up. He was supposed to tell his handlers what he needed. But then he realized; the Soldier was never allowed to demand release from his restraints. He'd been programmed to understand that when he was locked into his seat, it was because he needed to be._

_And Brock probably should have let him out then. Instead, he watched as the stain crept down the Soldier's thighs and horror crossed his face. He hunched as low as the restraining band would allow, head hung in shame, squirming frantically in the seat as a puddle spread out around him._

_Brock had gone to comfort him then, stroking his hair and promising he knew he'd tried his best to hold it, saying that if he was good on this mission then they didn't have to report this or anything. The Soldier had leaned against him until the trembling stopped, and Brock had told himself this was a good thing. This was strengthening the bond between handler and weapon. He was further instilling the Soldier's sense of trust._

_Only now he won't get in his fucking carseat, fidgeting in that exact same way, and shit, this is bad. If Brock's fucked this up, if he's caused the malfunction that gets them all killed..._

_"Soldier," he snaps his fingers and points, the nervous edge creeping into his voice, "You heard the Commander. Restraint, now!"_

_Disobeying for so long has made the asset panicky and desperate. He scrambles into his seat and clings to the restraining band._

_"How come he listens to you?" Mercer demands._

_"Guess I'm special," he shrugs, taking his place next to the Soldier. He considers denying him a reward for his behavior back there, but this little fuckup has made Brock realize it's really his own fault. He was originally angry that the others hadn't been treating the asset right, but he went and did the same thing. He used the Soldier for his own little game, and risked screwing him up and HYDRA as well. The Soldier needs to be able to trust him as a handler; Brock vows to make it happen._

_The shame runs deeper than that, though. He's disrespected HYDRA's most valuable asset, who was running these ops back when Brock was still a chubby little ball of drool, whose competence is ten times what Brock can ever hope to equal. He's HYDRA's most well-honed weapon and Brock has treated him like his own little playtoy. Not just that time, either; laughing at him that time with the Nutella, calling him adorable. Well, now he's checking in with himself. Now he'll give the asset the respect that he deserves. This physical reinforcement, it's all about trust, about building onto the maintenance that HYDRA has established.  
_

_No more fucking around, damn it; this was a close call, and Brock's going to do better._

*

Even Pierce is unable to pull the asset out of it. Brock can tell that's a first; from the way the Secretary talks to him, Brock instantly knows that he's got his own ways to work the programming. 

It had looked hopeful at first. Pierce examined the asset, trying to get an explanation out of him, and then, unexpectedly, he backhanded him across the face.

Around the room, fingers tightened on triggers. Everyone at least half expected the Soldier to go for Pierce's throat. Instead he'd blinked and looked up at him with an expression Brock knows all too well.

But he hadn't given the mission report. Instead he'd choked out a question about "the man on the bridge", and he's stuck on Rogers no matter how hard Pierce tries to get him back onto HYDRA. "But I knew him," he insists, soft and faint, but there's definitely an edge in his voice. For the first time since that car ride with the Nutella, Brock thinks he looks like a little kid.

The worry he feels is more than personal. They may still need the Soldier before Insight gets off the ground, especially now that they've seen what Rogers is capable of.

What if Rogers broke him completely? Brock hadn't even seen the Soldier as something that  _can_  be broken. He can go a little unstable sometimes, but that's always been fixable. Hell, for the asset, bullet holes are fixable. This should be nothing.

Pierce isn't worried, though. He gives the orders without hesitation, and it's clear he's dealt with this kind of breakdown before.  "Wipe him, and start over."

The maintenance chair springs to life. The Soldier melts back into obedience and lets the techs push him down, restraints clamping over his arms and holding him in place. Then comes the part Brock's not prepared for. A metal band is encircling the Soldier's head and he's shaking and forcing in breaths, his huge chest heaving.

Breath catching, Brock stares. Obviously the Soldier knows what's coming, but he still doesn't get it even when the headband flares blue. It's only when he starts to scream that Brock realizes they're literally emptying his head.

*

_The higher-ups can't help but notice._

_Oh, they don't know exactly how he's doing it, but they get that Brock and the Soldier just click. Brock works pretty damn well with him by this point, and soon enough Pierce assigns him a team of his own. He's Commander Rumlow now. Getting free rein to do his work with the Soldier has never been easier._

_He's got his own team the way he likes it. Rollins is his second-in-command, of course, and then there's Anders, who he's known for a while. He's glad to have backup he can trust. There's the new recruit, Murphy, handling the tech stuff, and if nothing else Brock will at least say he does his job without fail. Mercer got stuck with that Westfahl prick as her backup tech; watching her struggle with him makes Brock appreciate Murphy a whole lot more. He even personally makes sure the other agents stop giving him shit in the locker room; Merle looked after him when he was a recruit, showed him the ropes, and now it's his responsibility to do the same. Murphy's a pain in the ass, but he's their pain in the ass, and even Brock will admit they couldn't do what they do without him. If they're really going to work, a team's got to be family._

_And, of course, there's the asset. Because honestly, he makes their team complete._

_They quickly become known for their success rate with the Soldier. They take their cue from Brock, and he has the Soldier trained to respond to the slightest touch._

_He's worked really fucking hard for this, Brock thinks as his team sweeps the shell of an abandoned building. He brushes his elbow against the Soldier's: hold fire._

_The Soldier stiffens, tilting his head this way and that, pressing himself ever so slightly against Brock; he's picking up their would-be ambush in this building. Rollins called it right._

_Brock waits until he sees the movement around the corner before squeezing the Soldier's elbow. In a blink, the asset's got both guns blazing, and Brock goes ahead and gives him free rein here, lets him do what he does best. Even after all these years, damn if it's not just incredible to stand behind the gun and watch the Soldier's perfect, steady stance, his calculating gaze, the swarm of enemies going down in waves all around them._

_And when it's over, the Soldier comes back to him, pressing his arm against Brock's: what do I do now?_

_In the van on the way back, the Soldier comes to sit by him, and Brock thinks HYDRA could have done so much better by doing this with him from the start. They think he's no more than the weapon HYDRA wants them to see, that he can't feel more than the most innate animal emotions, that programming cannot possibly extend to human feelings._

_But when Brock moves his head just slightly, the Soldier responds, slumping down against him, head on his shoulder. He's done his job well, and now he gets to relax. He presses his face into Brock's neck, and it's almost like having a real person there._

*

He's such a fucking  _moron._

It takes a minute before he remembers to breathe. When he does, it's forced, deliberate, the way the asset breathes when he's been injured in the field.

He remembers how, every few missions, they have to work with they Soldier a bit, reprogram him to respond to them. Reprogramming, that's  _exactly_  what it is, more than Brock knew.

In training, in the field, the Soldier was fucking breathtaking. Perfectly calculated, a swinging fist, the knife flipping back and forth. And, of course, his aim.  _Breathe out_ , fire,  _breathe in,_  another target down, repeat and repeat, a pile of bodies fallen undramatically and before Brock could blink. If it got his heart pounding in his chest to have the Soldier standing next to him dropping enemies as calmly and methodically as Brock did laundry, well...

One of HYDRA's most successful experiments, Pierce had told him when he first began to work with the Soldier. He'd imagined a brave volunteer, maybe the kind of dedicated agent that Brock could someday hope to be, a man built into a machine. It's not like that would be unheard of, a man immortalizing himself for the cause, becoming less human but more  _perfection_. Because everything about the Soldier is calculated. His muscle mass, his intake and output, the parts for his arm and the training he's given. He  _is_ perfection, that's what they've  _made_ him. That's what HYDRA can do. With them, he is spoken of and maintained lovingly and with pride. 

Pride. Brock had considered it an honor to work with him.

Now, watching him scream, the realization that he is a man is hitting him full-on. That meeting with Rogers jolted something inside him—who  _was_ he? How come Pierce is obviously so used to explaining away the Soldier's confusion for him? Why do they have to correct him, work around him, take him apart like this to keep him going? Who would volunteer to have  _this_ done to them?

Would Brock?

Before, he'd have said he'd do anything for the cause. He was loyal, he was dedicated, and if they'd offered to carry him on in name, it'd have been the proudest moment in his career. But...

Brock's never questioned the Soldier's reliance on the techs to keep him functional. How did he come to rely on HYDRA so much?

Just who  _is_ the man screaming in that chair? 

The Soldier's jerking in the restraints with the full force of his body, but they hold; clearly, they were built for this. It looks like an involuntary reaction and Brock can't help tensing up, realizing how much it must hurt to make the Soldier convulse like that. Brock's seen him take bullets with only a little ripple of pain on his face. 

They're burning everything out of him and it's hurting him like hell.

Brock tells himself to get it together. Pierce is leaving the room, beckoning for the team to follow. They'll have to answer his questions now, report what went wrong and when. And Brock can't seem as though he has any reservations. He  _can't_ have any reservations.  _Pull your shit together, Rumlow._ It's HYDRA's end goal that matters, and he can't fuck it up. Can't fuck up his own sense of dedication.

Because they're doing what needs to be done and he needs to  _be_ dedicated. No matter  _what_ it takes _._

That's what he tells himself as he follows Pierce out of the bank vault, but he can't help looking back over his shoulder as another echoing scream rips through the room.

**Author's Note:**

> Ever since I noticed the ridiculous super-soldier carseat, I've wanted to write about the ridiculous super-soldier carseat.
> 
> I don't know if there is any other super-soldier carseat trash, but if there is, someone please direct me to the super-soldier carseat trash. 
> 
> If you didn't originally notice the super-soldier carseat, [it appeared briefly in TWS](http://perplexedhedgehog.tumblr.com/post/128197888245/drawsaurus-sabacc-hydras-absolutely), they used it to restrain Steve, and then someone went and pointed out it was probably not built _for_ Steve specifically...
> 
> Oh yeah, and Gillette is [omet](http://archiveofourown.org/users/omet/pseuds/omet)'s character from [this fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3169694).


End file.
